Sorry for the delay. I know this has been a long time comming and I've been quite distracted lately with other games. The luster of wow has worn off on me, finally. And with the introduction of 2.0 I'm getting quite fired up about MUDing again. So what better way to reintroduce my characters to the pbase than by finishing my self-title for Drath. So without further delay, here's parts 1-3. And as of this moment, there are no plans for more without writing a whole novel about him. :P

* * *

Two feet landed softly in the snow. There was something in the air that morning, something that vitalized the weary spirit of the traveler. He had been on the road for almost a week. His path had taken him to the heights of the Spine of the World. As he contemplated the path that lay ahead of him through the frigid Northlands, his thoughts drifted back to the temple he knew so well. They had taken him from death's icy clutches and given him hope. His desperate prayer to an unknown goddess had not fallen on deaf ears. They had taught him all they could at the temple and then let him move on. How true an old employer's words rang: Only limited power could be obtained through the various schools, guilds and temples; he would have to search it out himself.

The chill came again, biting at him in the breeze. It brought a smile to his face and urged him on. This visit was an important one. He uttered a couple more incantations, one for invisibility and one to float above the traceable snow. Then he was off again.

A short while later he came upon his destination. The home was small and desolate. It was made of weak materials and looked as if the cold wind could push it over with a simple breath. This house was protected, however, and its magical aura was easily sensed by the traveler. He approached the handle-less door and spoke the arcane passwords. The door glowed ominously as a bluish light traced a pattern well known to him on the seemingly broken wood. Upon completion of the runic symbol, the door opened itself for the traveler who entered immediately.

The room was dry and unheated. Oddly, the room was circular in shape in contrast to the outwardly rectangular appearance of the house. In each of the four cardinal directions was a door leading from the main chamber. Each door was encrusted with a magical snowflake of a different shape which emitted a white-blue glow to light the room. In the center of the chamber was a powerful wooden table whose craftsmanship surpassed any other the traveler had seen. Every visit he marvels at its excellence: at the carved bears holding the circular disk, at the runes around its circumference, at the celestial portrait carved on its glassy smooth surface. However, now was not the time, he figured, and searched the room for his contact. Standing opposite him accross the table was an old priest. The sage smiled and motioned to one of the back rooms for their meeting. "I knew you'd come back for it, Drathlaen Winterfyre. It seems the temple underestimated it before sending it here," he rambled.

"Is it prepared for the temple?" Drathlaen asked impatiently.

"Yes, but I will need to make special preparations for its journey back. It won't take long. You may have a seat if you wish." replied the priest motioning to his plush chair by the window.

Drathlaen walked over to the window and stood, looking out into the mountains. It overlooked the rough terrain and forest beyond. He raised his hand and chanted quietly to himself. His frail fingers moved and twitched toward the glass. As he was doing this, ice began forming in a seemingly random crystalline pattern. After a few moments he turned from his pastime and faced the priest who was smiling back at him.

"I am graced once again by your delicate work." The fragile balance of chaos and pattern coupled with the beauty of the ice always brought a smile to the old man's face. "It is ready for you. See that its return is a safe one." He then handed a small leather satchel over with all confidence.

"Not a soul will know it is in my possession." He took the satchel and hid it away in the folds of his robes. "I must make haste on my return."

"Fare thee well, Frostweaver."

With a low bow Drathlaen made his way to the door. As the door closed the priest sat in his comfortable chair and regarded his window. After a few moments of contemplation, he realized the pattern was that of a snowflake inside of a diamond: a perfect replica of the symbol of the temple. He looked back to his door and thought to himself, "That one is held high in her favor, for Icemaiden shines upon his path."

His words trailed off and disappeared into the cold air like the vapors of his warm breath.